


The Closest I Ever Gave

by darlinghogwarts, MaddyHughes



Series: The Great Hannigram Escape [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Facial Shaving, M/M, Murder Husbands, Shaving, Straight Razors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlinghogwarts/pseuds/darlinghogwarts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyHughes/pseuds/MaddyHughes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain times when Hannibal Lecter giving you a very close and sensual shave might be pleasurable. Now...is not one of those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Closest I Ever Gave

**Author's Note:**

> This is an episode in our continuing role Twitter roleplay, [The Great Hannigram Escape](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3860932/chapters/8622826), though it makes sense on its own. It begins with Will Graham sneaking off from Lecter Castle where he lives with Hannibal, to commit the murder of a lonely man in a cabin....alone.

Will has removed all the evidence. He has left the man's body to be found. Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything creative. He wanted to leave behind a _scene_. He had a design ready in his mind. But their safety is more important than his pleasure. And yet, he has a smile on his face as he walks back towards the woods. He is nearly skipping, radiating happiness.

Hannibal has to be fast to get back to Lecter Castle before Will, but he knows the terrain here better.

Hannibal lets himself into the castle, gets quickly undressed and slips into bed, feigning sleep. He is elated, joyous, proud. And at the same time something burns in him.

Why hasn't Will told him? Why would Will hide _this_?

A liaison, he could understand: it would be part of the flirtatious game they play, the way they use jealousy as a toy to test the strength of their bond. Or if he'd been trying to get in touch with someone from his old life: he could understand that, too, and why he'd hide it

...But this? This dark pleasure they share? Why would he keep it from Hannibal?

He lies awake and thrumming, to all appearances peacefully asleep, awaiting Will's return.

Will walks through the woods silently, putting his knife and bag back in the hiding place. His smile widens, and he throws... his head back and _laughs_. The joyful laughter echoes through the forest. He feels tears in his eyes, and wonders when his laughter turned into sobs. And yet, he smiles through the tears.

He did it. Again. And it feels absolutely _wonderful_.

Will slips back into the castle. He walks into one of the massive bathrooms, taking a warm shower to wash away the blood. Sighing, he puts on a robe, deposits his clothes in the laundry room, and makes his way to their bedroom. Smiling softly as Hannibal sleeps, Will slips into bed, snuggling closer to him.

Hannibal sighs and pulls Will close, breathing him in. He can feel his skipping pulse. He can smell his exhilaration. Hannibal holds him tightly, like he does every night.

Will lies awake, burrowing closer to his warmth. He can't sleep.

They're both awake, both pretending, though Hannibal doesn't think Will knows that he is awake. Is Will, his clever, devious, surprising Will, pretending about anything else?

Will shifts slightly to find a more comfortable position, trying not to disturb Hannibal.

Hannibal tightens his grip. Smelling Will's victim, their intimate meeting, in the very essence of Will. Understanding, perhaps for the first time fully, how impossible it is to know another human being, even one beloved.

Will relaxes as Hannibal's grip tightens on him, and places his head on Hannibal's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

**

The next morning, when Will comes down, Hannibal is already in the kitchen, making coffee. He is seemingly absorbed in the task. Will stands beside him. He is wearing a white shirt, too large for him, rolled up in the sleeves.

Hannibal glances at him. ‘Is that a new shirt?’

‘It’s actually one of yours.’ Will curls the corners of his mouth in flirtation, wanting connection after last night when they lay side by side in silence. Wanting to go back to their normal.

‘Ah.’

‘Do you like it on me?’

Hannibal pours coffee, two cups. He sits down at the table, and sighs. ‘I’m sorry, Will. I know you want a specific response. I shall try to give it, in a moment. I do want to please you, if I can.’ He contemplates his coffee. ‘Though perhaps I can't.’

‘What makes you think you can't? I am happier now than I have been in years.’

‘Are you?’

‘I am.’

‘Oh.’

‘I don't know if you realize, but before I met you, I could be dying and I wouldn't care.’

Hannibal’s fingers curl into a fist, but are instantly released. ‘And now you have found a purpose to your life.’

Will frowns. ‘I didn't realize you had a taste for sarcasm.’

‘What makes you think I am being sarcastic?’

Will doesn't say anything. A few minutes pass in silence. He leans against the counter, watching Hannibal. ‘The same thing that tells me you're angry.’

‘Is that so?’ He rises. ‘Excuse me, I have something I need to prepare. Won't be a minute.’

‘Darling—’ Will pauses. He looks at Hannibal, swallowing heavily, and nods.

**

Hannibal prepares carefully. He lays out a brush, and soap scented with sandalwood and cedar. Oil and lotion, lavender and vervain. A basin of very hot water. Soft towels, thick and heated. A snow-white cloth.

The razor is the last. It is keen already, but he spends some time honing its long silver-sharp blade, running it sensuously and with great attention up and down the strap.

He inspects the edge, and tests it with his thumb. The blood wells instantly, without thought, without pain.

Absently, preoccupied, he sucks the blood from his thumb and goes to find Will.

Will is where he left him, in the kitchen, looking pensive and worried. Hannibal recalls Will’s elation last night. He had never thought that it would give him pain to see Will Graham experiencing joy. And angry as he is, he takes no pleasure in having been the one to make Will forget how happy he had been.

He feels sadness, anger, and a great sense of regret. He takes a deep breath.

‘Will?’

He hears Hannibal's footsteps, each step measured. Will looks up sharply as Hannibal calls his name, and sees the razor in his hand. His eyes widen. Two days ago, Hannibal beat him in a race through the forest, and had asked for Will’s beard as a prize.

‘I see that you wish to claim your reward,’ Will says.

‘Indeed. Are you ready?’

Will's voice is soft, and hopefully calm. And yet, his heart beats wildly against his chest. ‘I am ready.’

‘Come.’

He doesn't take Will's hand. He turns and leads the way to their bathroom, where fragranced steam wreaths the mirrors. ‘Please...sit.’ He gestures to the mahogany chair he has set in the centre of the tiled floor.

Will sits down silently, clenching his fists. Hannibal is cold, disconnected, curt. The Ripper. He has no hopes of predicting his next move, his behavior. Extremely dangerous. And yet, Will feels a rush travel through his body.

‘You have a proper beard, Will. I'm sorry for its sacrifice.’

Will’s heart beats faster. ‘Beards grow back.’

Hannibal doesn't reply. With an electric trimmer, he cuts Will's beard shorter. He knows the vibration in his hand will translate to Will's skin, that Will feels this falling away of layers.

Finished, he puts the clippers aside. ‘I'm sorry for the noise. It becomes more intimate from here.’

The vibrations against his skin suddenly make the moment real. It's similar, perhaps, to be cruelly dropped into ice water. Hypnotized, he gazes into Hannibal's eyes. ‘The noise isn't a problem.’

‘Are you comfortable?’

Will is scared. Excited. Terrified. Exhilarated. Alive. Is he comfortable? ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Lean back, please.’ Carefully, he drapes and wraps heated towels around Will's face and neck.

Will does as he is told, his breath stuttering. No one else would have noticed, but he's certain Hannibal did. He waits for the memory of a flash of green eyes as Hannibal's hands gently touch his neck. They don't come. Eyes the color of drying blood remain.

‘Pleasantly, conversationally, Hannibal says, ‘You know, when I first met you, I had a secret pleasure in your company. Then, I enjoyed you knowing me both as Dr Lecter, and the Ripper, without connecting them.’ He removes the towels; begins massaging oil into Will's skin. ‘And now, you know all of me. Even things I would hide, you have unearthed.’

He gazes up into Hannibal's eyes. They are cold. The color of warm, drying blood, and yet so cold.

His fingertips make small rasping sounds against Will's beard stubble. ‘You are very quiet, Will.’

Will tries to breathe evenly as Hannibal's hands touch his skin. He is gentle. Painfully gentle. And yet, he knows that Hannibal can twist his neck effortlessly. ‘You know everything about me as well.’

‘Do I?’

Will, already still as a statue, nearly stops breathing. ‘You... You do.’

Pleasantly, swirling the brush in the soap, Hannibal says, ‘Last night I confessed, publicly and in detail, exactly how much I love you. Your reaction was to complain that I never accepted your proposal, and to flirt with another man. One would almost think you were trying to divert attention.’

He begins to brush the shaving soap onto Will's face. ‘What do you think, Will?’ he asks, as he lovingly caresses his jaw with lather.

Will nearly gasps as Hannibal caresses his jaw. His gentle touch and warm tone hurt more than a bleeding wound. His words are lost on his tongue, slipping away. Guilt eats him from inside, and he tries to justify his actions. He can't. Courage and stupidity drag the words back onto his tongue.

‘Why would I divert attention?’

Hannibal pauses in brushing the shaving foam onto Will's face. It hurts. This deception of Will's. Has hurt since he discovered it, and has dug like a blade deeper with every reiteration and denial.

This pain is new. He never felt it, until he loved Will Graham enough to know the torture of betrayal.

He swallows, and continues to brush on the fragranced lather. It is the scent he chose for Will in Florence.

Will wishes Hannibal were raging, screaming, killing. Anything but this frigid calm. He wishes he would say something. It is at that moment, with the blade so close to him, that Will realizes.

‘You know.’

His body is frozen, unable to move.

‘You know what I did, last night. When I left.’

Hannibal puts down the brush. Picks up the razor. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

He poises the blade over Will's throat, as if trying to decide where to make the first cut.

‘I followed you. I saw.’ He can see Will's pulse, beating rapidly and forcefully in his neck. The expression of fear and guilt in his blue eyes. ‘I know what you did. Your secret...intimacy.’

He brings down the blade.

Will wants to close his eyes, he wants to stop looking. But he can't. He keeps staring into Hannibal's eyes. He won't hurt him. He sits as still as possible. A sudden move, and the blade will cut him, whether or not Hannibal intended it. Will's heart is beating faster than he can ever remember. His eyes memorize the features of Hannibal's face. Just in case. Will knows, that Hannibal could have both hands wrapped around his throat, a blade at his neck, and he would still love him. He knows, because here he sits, a blade to his neck, and he can't bring himself to blame Hannibal.

Terrified. He is terrified. And yet, he has never felt so alive as he waits for the sharp edge to touch his neck.

Hannibal touches the edge of the blade to Will's neck. Slides it, close as a lover, across his skin. It leaves a smooth line of shaven skin. Hannibal wipes the blade on a cloth.

‘That isn't too cold, is it? The razor?’

Under Hannibal's hand, under his sharp, sharp razor, Will feels like a work of art being crafted lovingly by the artist. Hannibal has the power to make him his masterpiece. He also has the power to destroy him until red paint ruins the canvas. His voice is barely a whisper. ‘No. It isn't too cold.’

‘You are comfortable? You know that you have the power to leave, at any moment? You know, Will, that I love you enough to let you go?’

Will doesn't move. ‘I know.’

Hannibal could slit his throat right now, and he wouldn't struggle.

‘Do you want me to tell you what I know?’ Hannibal asks.

He doesn't believe he has the will to even hold himself up. ‘Yes.’

Hannibal runs the razor lovingly over Will's face. Along the jaw, ear to chin.

‘You have hidden weapons in the forest near the castle, where I am unlikely to find them. It did cross my mind that they were for defense. Against assassins, or against me. As I keep telling you: you should fear me.’

Smoothly, rhythmically, he shaves Will's face. Never a movement wasted, each stroke revealing pink-tinged naked skin.

‘But the weapons aren't for defense, are they, Will?’

With every movement of the blade, Will feels like Hannibal is peeling off his fortress, his last defenses. By the last movement of the blade, Will is going to be truly naked before this man. ‘No.’

‘You took a knife and you walked into town. You found a man there; someone you had selected. Someone you, somehow, knew.’ Hannibal negotiates, with the razor, the complicated curves of Will's upper lip, the tender skin around his mouth. ‘You locked yourself in with him. Alone. And you killed him, with great and terrible pleasure. Am I correct, Will?’

Hannibal's eyes are, somehow, colder than they were a few minutes ago. Frigid. This isn't Hannibal. This is the Ripper.

‘Yes.’

Hannibal runs one finger over Will's cheek: the soft, exposed, fragrant skin.

‘And after you killed, you were happy. Purely happy. Are you happy now, Will? Or are you frightened?’

His breath stutters as Hannibal touches him, caresses not only his cheek, but also his mind. He feels exposed. So exposed.

Will is certain that the blade can feel the gentle vibration of his throat as he speaks. ‘I am neither. I am only... aware.’

Aware of every touch, every sensation, every breath. Aware of his mistakes, his betrayal.

Tenderly, Hannibal tidies up his work: the contours of Will's face, the crease of his chin, his sideburns. All that is left is the hollow of his jaw and the place on his neck where the skin is thinnest, over his trachea, his jugular vein, his carotid artery.

Hannibal considers his blade. He pauses and begins to sharpen the razor again.

‘I love you as a killer,’ he says. ‘I love the taste of your victim's blood on your skin. And yet you hid this from me. You slipped into our bed after your intimate murder, with not a word.’

He inspects the blade. Smiles sadly.

‘Are you ready to finish, Will?’

Will can hear his heart beating, thumping against his chest loudly, desperately. Begging him to move, to do anything other than just stare into Hannibal's eyes. Hannibal's eyes, the color of drying blood. The same color he will see on Will, should he choose to use his blade.

Will can see it in his mind. He can see Hannibal gently, lovingly running the blade against his throat. Hannibal would cut with surgical precision, over his jugular. Perhaps a few millimeters away from the scar the Green-Eyed Man left on him. No, Hannibal would want his own mark on him. He would want his blade to touch uncut, pure skin, unsullied by that pig.

‘Yes,’ says Will.

Hannibal touches the blade to Will's throat.

‘I hide nothing from you. Not now. You know who I am. What I do. Our love is founded on total, pure, horrifying, beautiful understanding. Our minds and monsters open to each other. And yet you are so eager to keep your secret that you will humiliate me in order to do so.’

The end, when it comes, is swift. The blade dances in Hannibal's hand. Hannibal sees that Will is holding his breath. His eyes are open, however: ready to see the end.

The razor shaves unerringly. Without a nick. Will's throat exposed, bare, intact.

Gently, he wipes a cloth over Will's skin. Using his palms and fingers, he smooths on cool lotion. He holds Will's face in his hands.

‘I love you. You have changed me. I only regret that I have changed you so much that you have betrayed our trust in order to be more like me.’

He kisses Will's smooth lips. Then takes Will’s hand, and places the razor in it.

And then, without another word, Hannibal leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The green-eyed man, in this story, is one of Mason Verger's accomplices who has sexually assaulted Will.


End file.
